


Dynamo

by IdiotCrusader



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: AU - Failed Revolution, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7039417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdiotCrusader/pseuds/IdiotCrusader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where decepticons had lost the war before it had even started properly. Deadlock is back to the gutters and starving. The rescue comes as a not-yet-knight in a white shining armour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dynamo

**Author's Note:**

> Look, another AU that doesn't make sense at all!  
> Canon? What canon?
> 
> Unbeta-ed, pointing at mistakes is always appreciated.

Deadlock knew it wasn't going to end up well. 

He couldn't get any fuel in cycles, up to the point when hunger turned into dull unrelenting pain, and there was no denying that he was ill anymore - denial seemed pretty pointless right now, when his chest armour was all black with the sticky liquid constantly leaking from his vents under helm, on his neck and chest and out of the main intake. Deadlock couldn't tell exactly what was wrong with him. Probably some kind of heavy rust infection. Living on the streets does that to you. As much as he wanted to pretend he was fully functional, for last three cycles he was coughing non-stop, and the small flakes of metal lining in the contaminated coolant were just slightly alarming. 

His spark thrummed as if struggling to supply his frame with energy.

Maybe it did struggle. He was so weak he couldn't have transformed even if his T-cog had been active. It wasn't. The Council had taken away something they considered most important from the renegades - they had taken their purpose. And had allowed them to exist. 

If you serve no purpose, what are you good for? 

After having lost the war right after having started it decepticons had all the opportunities to start appreciating their previous lives. The Council managed to make their current ones so much worse... Before most of them had been either not wanted or nor noticed or both. Now they became official all-Cybertron rejects. 

Empurata used to be a warning sign. Decepticon badge took its place perfectly now. 

They had been forced to return into gutters. They used to be lower class - but they were criminals now. No one wanted a criminal for a job, no one wanted a criminal around at all. There was no fighting it. They had lost exactly the same click as they had failed to take over the Senate, even though the fighting lasted for much longer after. Revolution that wasn't complete is no revolution anymore, it's a riot. Riots are managed by government forces... and oh, they did manage it after all. 

There were no 'decepticons' anymore. They couldn't re-group and start again - the mere idea of fighting was crushed after that initial failure. Frag the Council, frag the higher class, but they managed to convince everyone, from seekers down to cassettes, that there's no change. There's no need in change. That as much as the concept is dangerous and must be avoided. 

Maybe the higher class was right. Maybe once being part of gutters you're doomed to stay there forever. 

It was probably easier back then. At least he could take some boosters and let himself forget about it all for a while. Deadlock kept himself clean now. Dignity, or whatever he had left of it, was to be preserved no matter what, and his frame couldn't manage a booster anyway at this point of starvation. Going into stasis lock on the streets wouldn't do him any good, and he was far too stubborn to give up and let himself go offline. 

Always struggling. Never getting anything out of it. 

Painful cramp made him lean against the wall, and Deadlock tensed all over, trying to push a lump of sickening tar out of the intake. He couldn't help it, couldn't make it any better. All he could was just freeze and wait until pain and pressure go away. If he's lucky his self-repair would eventually wear the virus off. His frame felt more and more feverish and broken each cycle but then again, it's not like he could get a repair or at least something to eat somewhere... 

It took him some time, and when he was finally wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after spitting the black coolant on the ground, venting heavily, the ex-'con discovered someone was standing by near the corner, observing him quietly. Didn't look too dangerous and surely didn't belong to the gutters. Pretty white jet, all clean and shiny, probably middle class or even seeker. What would he want down there? Deadlock was too tired to deal with him. All he wanted was some recharge without his chest and engine being torn apart with cough and pain and without desperate struggle to vent each fragging time. 

He still hated being glared at. His badge, once worn with honor, burnt on his shoulder. He could be at least left alone. Dignity was to be preserved... It included not falling apart in front of of some fancy overly curious outsider.

'Whatcha staring at?' It was supposed to be a growl but he only managed a vaguely warning husky rasp. 'Never seen a rust infection before?'

'Not like this. Looks... bad.' The flyer admitted, and the flight panels shifted slightly on his shoulders.

Uncomfortable down there, huh? Not the best place for any mech of any decent class, the gutters. But the white jet didn't really look uncomfortable. His yellow optics flickered with something suspiciously like... worry? It's just ridiculous.

'Sure feels like slag', Deadlock agreed and coughed again, sighing with weak relief when another surge of black thick liquid splashed out of his vents. 

He was exhausted. So far he had managed clearing his vents by working up his engine constantly, even if it was getting him overheated, but now he could hardly start it. He needed to at least find something to refuel with, or he'll end up with that black thing leaking deeper into internal parts, and then... Primus help him then. 

Deadlock shivered and leaned against the wall even more. He wasn't in shape to support his own weight anymore, but still was too wary to sit in front of the stranger and make himself any more vulnerable. It was pure instinct, consciously he couldn't force himself to care anymore. Whatever the jet wanted he'd better just do it and leave Deadlock alone. Please. 

He was so lost in grim thoughts he almost forgot that the white mech was there at all. But there he was, carefully putting his hand on Deadlock's shoulder to steady him. Deadlock managed not to flinch - just barely. Any other time he would've bared his fangs and snapped back, but now he could hardly move. 

'Hush, not gonna harm you... Just let me...' The jet pressed on the seam on his chest, some more coolant violently bursted through and Deadlock was suddenly able to intake the air freely. He stood there, panting and trying to proceed the relief, while the flyer delicately stroked his plating. 'You have to feel better at least for a couple of clicks.'

The touch felt so good, the first in... a long time, he almost leaned into it, still trembling slightly from both cough and startle. Frag. Look at that... pathetic. 

'I'm Wing', the jet informed. 'How long is... this going on?'

'Go to the Pit, Wing. Thanks for that little trick but that's no your fragging bussines', Deadlock huffed. It wasn't even the real insult, just a matter-of-fact statement. 'Since when do pretty respected altmode bearers talk to decepticons in the gutters? You high, lost or something?'

'Had to deliver a message, chose the fastest route.' Wing explained with no sign of irritation, and his hand was still on Deadlock's armour, giving him something to focus on when a surge of cramps came once more. 'You look like you need help. What did I have to do, just pass by?'

'You're probably going to be in trouble just for talking to me. It's like talking to an Empurata victim.' Deadlock frowned and tried to regain some composure and stay as alarmed as he could. Living - surviving - in gutters, trust no one. 

The hand on his dirty scratched plating still stayed there, careful and warm. 

'There's no actual rule against talking to an Empurata victim. Or you. In fact I was thinking maybe I could get you some energon or something...'

Just a thought of energon made his tank twist and ache even more, and he could almost feel the sweet taste. Primus, he was so hungry. You could never get used to starving. One cycle more and he would happily sell yourself to anyone who'd offer to feed him. Well, no one wants a decepticon, let alone a sick decepticon, but the fact's still there. 

He was still able to say 'no' yet. At least to shake his head. 

Wing clearly misunderstood. 

'You won't owe me anything, I promise! I know it's not easy but you can trust me, I swear...' He quickly assured. 'Maybe I could take you to the clinic down the sector as well. I know they don't deal with decepticons anymore but I know a medic, he will help no matter what... Might deal with that rust infection', the jet mused. 

He would've carried on if not an interruption.

'I don't need your charity.' Dignity, remember? He doesn't need any of that... pity or compassion of some weird kind or whatever it is. And isn't worth it, either. Once built in gutters, you stay there forever, not deserving of anything more. Not worthy enough.

They didn't just fail the revolution. It turned out no one except for them wanted it. Maybe there would never be equality because it didn't exist at all. Maybe some really were less worthy than others. 

'It's no charity.' Wing suddenly chuckled and stated, still hiding the smile: 'It's my credits, I can spend them as I please. And I want to buy you energon. Good enough reason for you?'

Not exactly but Deadlock could understand if this was a some kind of... entertainment. Wing didn't look like he was doing it to feel good about himself, though. Ugh. It was all far too much for his processor right now. 

Why not give it a try? It's not like he had any better options. Or like his situation could get any worse at all. 

'Fine.' Deadlock finally grumbled. 'I just don't see what's so funny in it.'

Wing smiled again. 

'Oh! I was going to say that I'm doing this because helping another is the highest calling one can aspire to. But I supposed you won't approve that kind of explanation.' 

It somehow calmed Deadlock's wariness a bit, as if it explained something about Wing. It was stupid but it... really did. He wasn't about to admit it. 

'I see you have some common sense, after all... Not much, though.' Deadlock grumpily commented. 'So you wanna waste your money and time caring for stray decepticons? Go on then, not gonna stop you', he shrugged, trying to show as little interest as he could. 

'Not just for any stray. For you. Consider this fate or coincidence if you wish', Wing corrected. The consent clearly made him happy. 'Would be nice to know your name, by the way.'

Deadlock contemplated for a click before giving in completely, and somehow he felt... felt... like there was hope for him again. How telling an altruistic stranger with that almost frighteningly expressive yellow optics could possible do that to his stupid spark? 

'It's Deadlock.'

'Nice to meet you, Deadlock', Wing bowed his head with a sudden earnesty and gently rubbed the decepticon badge on the ex-'con's plating. It was always sore since the branding done by functionalists, but the touch bizarrely soothed the burn. 'I've never thought too much about what's going on below, in gutters, you know? What you, I mean the 'cons, attempted... it opened the optics for lots of us. The Council may do and tell all they want but some respect you for trying, more and more each joor.'

This wasn't how this conversation was supposed to go. Not even close. Why? Why talking about it now, when it's all given up?

'Trying is not the same as making a difference', Deadlock rasped, suddenly shaken. 

'It's a start.' Wing rubbed the badge again, carefully stroking the outline under the dirt and flaking paint. 'It's like moving a dynamo. It requires a push to generate the greater power, and this... was probably all that was needed. Not now, but it'll eventually reach the point where you'll see the difference.' 

They both went silent for a couple of clicks. 

'You're a sweet talker', Deadlock sighed. 

'And you have you badge not for nothing.' Sweet, sweet talker. They looked each other into the optics, and Deadlock suddenly laughed - a fairly bit hysterical, violently coughing and shaking all over at the same time, but it was a sincere laughter, and Wing joined him soon.

There _was_ hope for them again, was there?

'Let me get fixed, and I'll spin that dynamo some more for you.' He haven't felt like joking, or imagining the future, in a long, long time, and yet something made him think - it was far more than a joke. 

'No doubt.' Wing agreed and helped him to get steady, when Deadlock's gyroscopes chose that moment to give in. 'Now, let's start with easy steps. Energon. How does this sound?'

It sounded absolutely perfect.


End file.
